OtherFlash: Avocet's Brigade - Episode 1
Avocet's Brigade - Episode 1 Starring: Avocet (Brody), Futterman (Drae), Moultrie (Tiana), Jenkins (Dement), Boudine (Walters), Watts (Martin) ---- Kilkinney Pike - Australia - Earth (2651) The last shuttle to escape from the doomed Vanguard carrier Versailles looks like it almost didn't make it to the surface. The hull, half-buried in swampy muck and tangles of marsh tree branches, has been punctured in several spots by heavy weapon fire. At first, all you remember are bits and pieces. Flashes. The sleek, massive Kretonian warships translating into Sol System from faster-than-light, cannons blasting after the last hope of the Orion Arm's survival: Sanctuary. The moon-sized colony ship escaping in a pink-blue flash that doesn't seem *quite* right, but you didn't have much time to think about that. General Avocet's voice, shouting over the intercom: "Abandon ship! Abandon ship!" Ladders and corridors. The cries of the wounded. The thump of boots against the dead. Up the ramp into the shuttle. The Versailles explodes. Debris strikes the fleeing shuttle, causing minor system damage. The general yells: "Hold steady, Jenkins! Hold steady!" Bursts of cannon fire from Kret fighters make that impossible. As you awaken, bruised and battered but apparently alive, you smell the acrid odor of scorched circuitry and feel warm ripples of brackish water splashing against you. You hear the general's voice again: "Citadel Base, come in. Citadel Base, I repeat, this is General Charles Avocet. I've got survivors from the Versailles with me. Lock in on this signal if you copy." There is a rising groan at the piloting console, above which Jenkins hangs forward in his chair. "Thomas" he says softly, "I'm sorry, Thom..." he seems to have survived relatively unscathed, other than shellshock. He has his eyes closed and hangs limp for the moment. Futterman groans, trying to close her eyes against the flashing bright lights inside her head. The world's orientation doesn't seem quite right, until she realizes she's still only partially strapped into her seat. The woman reaches up to unhook the belt and collapses against the bulkhead with another groan. "I knew I should have stayed home," she mutters, before pushing herself to her feet. She peers around her surroundings, trying to put names to faces and, her journalist mind ever recording, beginning her internal narration. Moultrie remains quiet and still for several minutes after both Futterman and Jenkins have already stirred, until finally she shifts slightly. A groan follows, her eyes remaining tightly squeezed shut as she raises a hand to press against her forehead. She mutters to herself, but the words are too quiet to be heard. The transition from temporary unconsciousness to a less unaware state illustrates the success of Vanguard training. Boudine's sidearm is halfway out of his holster before he knows what's going on. He slowly slides it back in, shaking his head. A hand fumbles for the buckle of his safety restraint, but finds a jagged piece of shrapnel wedged in there. "Sweet jesus," he mutters, only half understanding what is happening. The words come out slurred and jumbled, and talking seems to hurt. After wincing, he opens and closes his jaw a couple of times. Shaking his head a second time to try to clear it somewhat, he reaches for his knife. The general hears people stirring in the passenger compartment. He coughs into his fist, sinuses burning from the acrid smoke lingering in the cockpit. Then he unbuckles the harness holding him in the co-pilot seat. He puts a hand on Jenkins's shoulder and says, "You got us planetside safely. Good work." He turns to call back into the compartment: "Everybody alive in there?" Picking her way around debris and people, Futterman pulls her camera from the case and pauses to examine it. "Roger," she calls back to the inquiry. Satisfied the instrument has come to no obvious harm, as the thing still powers on, she slips the strap around her neck and then pauses by the first moving person she finds- Moultrie. "Here," she offers an unsteady arm, "need some help?" "Sir?" Jenkin manages a half smile in retort to the general, taking that as prompting to unbuckle himself. He falls forward and catches himself on the console, shakily pulling himself to his feet and attempting to operate the blast screen of the forward view to get a better view. It refuses to respond and he manages a disgruntled groan, waving a hand through the smog and pulling his shirt up to cover his mouth. "Yes sir." Moultrie calls back with a wince. Her hand drops down from her forehead to fumble for the buckle on her harness, just as the offer of help is extended. An eye cracks open and she looks towards Futterman, vision blurry and wavering, "Help, yeah. That'd be nice, thanks." The last of her words slurr off slightly, leading into a woozy groan. Grunting and slicing, Boudine manages to get himself unstrapped. Sliding the knife back into its sheath, he looks for the rifle he stowed right before strapping in and finds it just as Avocet announces his presence. He snaps a quick salute. "Aye aye, sir." He slides the magazine in and out of the rifle, check its status quickly. Slinging it over his shoulder, he looks around the shuttle for people who need assistance and the obligatory medical kit. Avocet gets to his feet, staggering until he braces himself against the hatchway leading back to the passenger compartment. His eyes narrow as he completes a silent head count. He makes his way over to an empty seat with unbuckled straps. No duffel below. "Watts already got out," he mutters. "Must be making sure the perimeter is secure." He looks over at the large gap in the hull where the hatch used to be. "Get any supplies you think we can use, folks, and let's get moving. We've crash landed in an Australian swamp. Nasty critters here. Best we don't stay too long." FT frowns, dropping to a knee and leaning closwer to peer at Moultrie. "Hey," she calls out, "Is the medic alive?" There's a heartbeat of silence and then the reporter rocks back on her heels peering back down towards the back of the shuttle. "Guess not," she mutters. She starts pawing through her pockets, looking for her own tiny first aid kit. "That's no way to talk about the natives..." Jenkins says with a slight smirk as he pokes his head out from the cockpit to get... well, fresher air then what is in there. "Supplies." he says, dropping back into the cockpit and moving towards the forward compartments, grabbing the few survival kits in there before moving back out with them. After a few more fumbles, Moultrie manages to get the harness unbuckled and frees herself with a gentle push forward, "Ugh." She murmurs, her jaw clenching lightly as a hand lowers to her stomach. A moment later she remembers Futterman's next to her, a slow shake of her head offered, "No... no, don't fuss about me." "What's the plan, sir? Escape and evasion until we hear from someone?" Boudine asks, then frowns as he finds the first medkit, its contents scattered around the back of the shuttle. He finds a second, and brings it towards Futterman and Moultrie. "She going to be okay to move?" Avocet unholsters his pulse pistol and checks the charge level in it. He sighs, shakes his head, and reholsters the weapon. "We're going to get through the swamp to firmer ground and try to make contact with civilization the first chance we get. We need more supplies. We need more weapons." He moves to the gap in the hull. "We need more people. A lot more." Ducking to avoid the jagged edges, Avocet steps out into the swamp. Brackish water laps around his knees. Kilkinney Pike - Australia - Earth (2651) Mosquitoes swarm and buzz through the thick, clinging swamp air. Knee-deep water the color of cream-swirled coffee stagnates around the trunks of tangly-branched trees. It's not always clear which way is which while navigating the area. "I dunno," Futterman looks up for a moment at Moultrie's grimace, then resumes pawing in her pockets. "She's moving her head so I guess that means yes. ABCs and 123s, right?" She gives up and snaps the last pocket closed and then pushes herself to her feet again slowly. "I can carry supplies if you'd rather carry people." She offers one arm out for the surviving medical kit, turning to loop up a pack hanging from the body of another soldier with her other arm. "D'you think we should gather up their weapons?" she asks, her eyes lingering on the dead man's holster. Jenkins moves through behind Avocet and frowns at the water that slops against the carpet inside the ship. "Sir, you don't think there are crocodiles, do you?" he says lowly, moving to get a better view out of the ship as he puts the kit down near the opening. "I'll be fine, really." Moultrie reassures as she makes to stand, "I just feel a bit nautious, it's nothing." Dizzy too, from the slight waver as she rises, "C'mon." She says as she goes to push past Futterman so she can grab whatever supplies she can carry. Boudine smiles at Futterman. "This isn't the Wild West, Ma'am. Having ten pistols won't help you. Ammunition, food, water, though, that's useful, if you want to strip them down." He hands over the medical kit, then grabs Moultrie'e elbow, steadying her. "Careful, El Tee. Safe to ask for help until you have your landlegs." He looks over to Jenkins. "Might be crocs, sir, but they're edible. Try not to let the general get too far ahead." "Crocodiles. Snakes. Poisonous frogs." Avocet smacks the right side of Jenkins' neck, leaving a bloody smear. "Giant mosquitoes." He chuckles. "If the wildlife doesn't kill us, disease will." The general turns and cups his hands on either side of his mouth, shouting: "Watts! Front and center! We're moving out!" FT eyes the sidearm a moment longer, than loops it up too. "Whatever." She follows, picking up another duffle with a grunt and pausing to collect nametags where she sees them, which she stuffs into another pocket on her pants. At the doorway she turns and lifts the camera to fire off a couple of rapid shots, the device clicking softly. Then she too, nose wrinkled in disgust, steps out into the muck. "Inspiring words, sir." Jenkins says dryly, rubbing the side of his neck a little touchily before moving back and unholstering a pistol from someone who appears to no longer need it. He checks it, turning away from it's previous owner rather pointedly. Moultrie pauses and takes a slow, deep breath before giving Boudine a nod. She stands silently for a moment, remaining in the grip of support at her elbow, "You're right. I just want to get out of here sooner rather than later." A wane smile is offered as she gently pulls her elbow free, and with steps that are steadier than they were a moment before, moves over to snag a medkit and some rations. Boudine looks at Futterman with unveiled disgust as she takes pictures. He takes a step away from Moultrie a moment, making sure it's safe to let her stand on her own. "Alright, Ma'am." He grabs up some of the scattered medical supplies - mostly drugs - heavy painkillers and antibiotics - and bandages. Although, he also takes a tourniquet. He goes quickly through the dead, taking off any personal effects that allow for identification that were missed by others, and ammunition from those with sidearms. He also takes a pulse pistol and slides it into his harness, slightly hypocritical given his advice. Stashing the items in pockets and the like, he raises his rifle. "Looks like that's everything, sir," he states, the obvious, to Avocet. Avocet clenches his jaw in the silence that passes after he calls out for Watts to return to the crash site. "Damn it," he grumbles. The general turns toward Boudine. "All right, good." He looks up toward the dimly lit sky. "Bloody twilight. Useless." An eyebrow lifts as he thinks to take out his PDA. He taps through to the GPS mapper window. The screen flashes briefly with the image of western Australia, a pulsing red ball marking the crash site location. Then, just as suddenly, the display goes dark. SIGNAL LOST. "Damn it," Avocet says. "Krets hit the comm-sats." Either ignoring Boudine or oblivious to his reaction, FT looks around her, widening her eyes to try letting more light in. The soft natural sounds of the swamp begin again and she reshoulders her burdens, shifting uncomfortably in the swamp. "Um..." She produces a flashlight from another pocket and twists the top experimentally. The beam produced isn't much, in the twilight its barely discernible, but it works. "I might have a compass too?" She offers the flashlight to Avocet and begins digging through the pockets again. "Maybe? I dunno...somewhere in here I thought I stuck one..." she trails off as she pats herself down. "Did we get anything back before they cut off, or are we alone out here?" Jenkins turns back to the kit he brought out earlier, grabbing a torch and turning it on. Moultrie grabs a few more things as she makes way to the outside, ammo, another gun, a flashlight - nothing different from what everyone else has already snagged, but useful none-the-less. However, upon stepping out, the full stench of the swamp penetrates through her senses and she promptly leans over with a hand against the outside of the shuttle, and throws up. "We ought to get moving before they decide to finish what they started. Not that a shuttle is important, but if they figure an officer. . ." Boudine notes, hopping out of the shuttle. He pulls a flashlight from his harness and attaches it to the barrel of his rifle, flicking it on in time to get a peripheral view of Moultrie heaving. He gives her a pat on the back, hefting his rifle with his other hand. "You can barf on my boots, El Tee, but let's get moving." An arm wraps around her, giving her support and trying to get her moving. Avocet clips the PDA to his belt, draws his pulse pistol with his right hand, and then takes the offered flashlight from Futterman with his left. "We're a few miles outside of a speck on the map called Kilkinney Pike." He starts sloshing through the swamp in a seemingly random direction. "And Boudine is right. The Krets probably tracked our descent. Best to move out. Watts can catch up." Futterman follows, still patting her pockets absently. "Thank you..." Jenkins stands at the edge of the hull, looking back on the crashed ship and nodding to it. "You done good." he turns and sloshes off with the others. Moultrie leans gratefully against Boudine, a hand raising with the sleeve pulled up over it to wipe at her mouth, "Thanks. Ughh." Steeling herself, she swallows hard and forces herself to move, her teeth gritting each time the urge to hurl rises again. Boudine tightens his grip on Moultrie. "You're doing great, El Tee. Let's try to pick up the pace." He does his best to be vigilant while he helps, gazing around the swamp and occasionally at the sky. The water grows shallower and the ground grows a bit firmer as Avocet leads the way through the swamp, the beam of his flashlight becoming more apparent as twilight fades to darkness. Once the water is ankle-deep, the light catches on the glinting eyes of a crocodile that's half-submerged near the shore. The general doesn't so much as blink. He doesn't display any tension in his voice. He just says, flatly: "Ensign." Then he nods toward the approaching reptile. Futterman sloshes along in line, her eyes firmly focused on the back of the person before her, mouth screwed up in a thin line as she counts the steps to herself. Eight hundred and fifty one...fifty two...she stiffens as the light catches the cold stare of the reptile. One foot is half raised from the muck to take a step, and she lowers it gingerly back into the water, half-turning and silently offering her shoulder to take Bouldine's place assisting Moultrie. She holds her breath too, as if somehow that would help. "Holy..." Jenkins shuts himself up as the crocodile is sighted and stands stock still. A second of thought passes and he looks about himself, deciding that, actually, moving might be a better plan. Moultrie nods to Boudine and makes every effort to pick up the pace, that is, before the crocodile is spotted. She stops dead in her tracks, trying to stand as still as possible while the hiccoughs of dry heaves persist. Boudine slowly releases Moultrie, giving her a pat on the back as Futterman takes over. "Hold still, folks," he says calmly, raising his rifle to his shoulder. He takes his time aiming, and makes short work of the croc's head. "General, are we putting crocodile on the menu tonight, or leave the carcass behind?" Avocet shakes his head. "We've got rations enough for now. Wouldn't be much good to stop and camp, either, I think. Between the wildlife and the Krets, I wouldn't care much for our chances. Just keep moving." While the ragtag group follows Avocet through the Australian wilderness, a Kretonian scout fighter swoops in low over the swamp where the Vanguard shuttle crashed. Slowing to hover, the scout illuminates the wreckage with a blue-white light in the dimming evening glow. A hatch opens in the belly of the fighter, spilling a flurry of silver orbs into a gap in the ruined hull. The flechette grenades detonate, filling the interior with a lethal cloud of cutting shrapnel for a few seconds. Had anyone been inside... Apparently satisfied that the grenades did their job, the scout fighter's pilot arcs his craft away from the swamp and accelerates toward the outer atmosphere. FT winces as the shot echoes, turning her face toward Moultrie's shoulder for a moment, as she slides a hand around the other woman's waist to offer more support. "Ugh," she mutters, then looks forward again. "Ok, c'mon, one foot in front of the other..." the last is sort of a half-singsong and it brings a stupid sort of grin to FT's face for a moment. "I bet we'll all feel better when we're not wandering through the...muck?" A dull sort of rumble echoes in the swamp, and FT tilts her head again. "What was that?" She tugs lightly on Moultrie, still trying to move forward. For the moment, Jenkins appears to be happy fearing the crocodile. Oh, right, an explosion. Bright eyes veer towards where they had moved away from and his determined expression flickers for a moment. Moultrie offers FT a faint smile, and just as gratefully as she had with Boudine, leans her weight in against the other woman, "Than-" Her murmur is cut off by the explosion, and while being tugged forward, looks over her shoulder back towards the crash site. "Huh," Boudine mutters, as he moves back to help shoulder Moultrie. "Good thing we got moving. I'm sure they have enough to worry about that survivors are an afterthought for now, right, sir?" He pauses a moment to look towards the reporter. "We have anything in the medkit to settle her stomach? Dramatol, maybe?" He doesn't seem to react, more intent on keeping them moving. "We're an afterthought until they're done hemming us in planetside," the general replies to Boudine, holstering his pistol so he can smack at a mosquito that's cheerfully draining blood from his chin. A short while later, Avocet leads the group out of the wilderness to the side of a rough road that cuts through ranchland. A bullet-marked sign leans on the shoulder, reading: Kilkinney Pike - Pop. 1,765. Kilkinney Pike - Australia - Earth (2651) A rough unpaved road winds between the verge of the wilderness and fenced ranchland. Lumpy mounds of red stone rise on the horizon. A bullet-perforated brown road sign stands at an angle on one side of the road, rising from a tuft of coarse yellow grass. The sign reads: "KILKINNEY PIKE - POP. 1,765." FT produced the motion-sickness remedy reluctantly, cautioning it might make Moultrie tired, then continued slugging along behind the crew. As they drag up onto the hard-packed dirt by the road, the woman stomps her boots in the dust several times, coating them with the fine mist and drying the worst of the mud. "What I wouldn't give to put on clean socks," she muses to herself, again bringing the camera up. She fishes a smaller pocket flashlight from her belt and aims it at the sign before snapping a quick shot without the flash. "Kilkinney, hey I know Kilkinney... Well, the one in Ireland..." Jenkins says with a light, mock cheerful tone. Moultrie took the medicine regardless of FT's warning, with a quiet, but firm declaration that she could fight being tired better than being sick. So far it seemed true, and she took to walking under her own power shortly before they arrived here, at the road. A quick glance is offered either way down the road, after which she simple looks to the General and waits. "I'm going to be really itchy tomorrow," Boudine notes as the General slaps another mosquito. He frowns at the sign. "Bullets? That's a bad sign. Krets already on the ground around here, sir?" Is it providence? Luck? Maybe it's just a coincidence. Headlights glow as a hovertruck whirs up the road from about a mile away. Avocet glances over at the bullet-riddled sign and shakes his head, chuckling. "Bored farm kids, more likely." He looks to the pilot. "Jenkins, secure transportation for us. We want to reach Kilkinney Pike with all due haste." FT grins at the ensign as the general replies, then returns to coating her boots in dust. She picks up a stick and starts scraping away the caked on mud, now flakey and dried out, half bent over with one eye on the approaching truck and the other on her foot. "Oh, well when I tell my Maddie about the Kretonians, I'll tell of the horror and fear they wrought on us all by shooting our landmarks and road signs.." Jenkins comments with a snicker across to Boudine before nodding to Avocet, "Yes sir." he moves out into the middle of the road and pulls a flare from the kit he's been hanging on to. There he stands, looking like an airport hand, waving his glowing red orb like a maniac. The hovertruck slows to a stop as the driver apparently doesn't consider it wise to just plow over the soldier with the flare in his hand. A placard on the driver's side door reads BLADES RANCH. The back of the truck is an open compartment with high metal walls, suitable for hauling crops or livestock. The window whirs down and an old man with a twist of white hair atop his sun-leathered head asks, "You don't look much like monkeys. I heard Kretonians looked like monkeys." Moultrie stands there, breathing evenly and reciting recipes under her breath - likely to keep herself focused. Waiting was letting the tiredness catch up to her, and it was starting to show a bit in her posture and under her eyes. Oh hey, a truck driver. She focuses on him now. It help a bit, at least. "Asshole," Boudine mutters under his breath, crouching out of sight with his rifle leveled at the truck. Avocet glances around at the others in the group, looks toward the swampland as if expecting Watts to come trudging out of it at any time, and then returns his attention to Jenkins and the truck driver. He doesn't say a word as he waits for them to settle the matter of transportation to Kilkinney Pike. FT giggles a tiny little bit- she can't help it- but she clamps down on the sound quickly enough. She chucks the stick away and walks forward, tucking her hands into yet another pair of pockets up by her hips, tilting her head and staring right back at the driver, despite the light from the truck rendering the man to a mere shadowy outline. The giggles stopped but the grin is still there. "Monkeys...I hadn't thought of that one." "No kidding, sir? Well, we definitely aren't." Jenkins says with a pleasant, if tired, smile, "We crash-landed out in the swamp there, can you give us a lift into town?" he points back in the direction of the swampland and then the direction of town, and then he looks for the older man's response. "Got room for one up front and a few in the back, sure," the old man answers, jerking a thumb toward the rear compartment. A couple of snorting pigs are nudging at a slop trough. "Mind you don't agitate 'em. I'll get you to Kilkinney good and quick." Moultrie steps forward to stand nearish FT, eyes narrowed against the glare of light from his truck as she stares at the driver. Silently. She does go so far as to smile politely towards him though, nodding a thanks. A worried glance goes back towards the swampland, though she quickly looks back to the truck. Boudine rises out of cover and approaches the truck. His weapon is pointed towards the ground, to be unthreatening, but he's looking for trouble. "Futterman," Avocet says, looking toward the reporter. "Why don't you ride up front? The rest of us will keep the pork company." "Sounds fantastic," FT agrees. She offers the driver another smile, "if you don't mind, that is." The woman puts down the many bags and duffles she had slung about her, retrieving her own and a medkit before moving to help load the packs in the back. Once they're settled, she climbs into the cab, snapping the safety belt home and leaning back with a sigh. "Mind? Why should I mind?" the old man behind the wheel inquires. "Borrowed time is all we've got left, you and me. I saw my daughter and her husband off on Sanctuary. Did I qualify for a ticket? No! Too damned old! Got more need for xenoagriculturalists, and what do I know about anything other than Earth pigs and cattle, anyway? Nann and Edward, though, they can breed, y'see. Got a real need for breeders now." Jenkins sighs and moves to the back of the hovercar, climbing up with the animals and attempting to find a seat, "Well, this is just swill." he puns. Moultrie follows a moment after Jenkins, climbing up to move towards a particularly large piggy. She doesn't so much sit, as crouch and lean against the creature, whose only reaction is a short grunt. Boudine clambers into the back of the truck, and moves towards the cab. He groans at Jenkin's pun, then checks his rifle for perhaps the thousandth time that night. Avocet makes his way around to climb into the rear compartment. He crouches on the opposite side of the pig trough from Boudine after carefully navigating around the hideous stinky piles of pig excrement. The consumed slop has to come out somewhere. He shrugs. "Short drive to Kilkinney, I hope." Avocet raps on the driver's compartment partition to signal all-aboard. The reporter brings one foot up, inspecting the mud in the lacings of the boot. "Y'don't say," she replies absently. "Mine are all back home- kids, parents, everyone. No better place to end life's journey than where you started it, y'know?" She leans back in the seat and fiddles with the display on the camera. "Its all borrowed time, if you think about it. One end or another, we're all heading the same direction." She stares at the display a moment longer and then pages past it. "Thanks for the lift and all that, though. I don't suppose you've seen anyone else out here?" She glances over her shoulder towards the bed of the truck, hoping to find a window peeking out into it, and maybe the face of a soldier peering back. The old man glances back through the partition window as Avocet's knuckles rap against it. He then turns his attention back to the road and resumes course for Kilkinney Pike. "Seen lots of people. Most folks cleared out of Kilkinney, headed over to Kalgoorlie-Boulder. That's a much bigger town. Safety in numbers, I guess they're thinkin'. A few die-hards are stickin' to the ranch, though. My boss top among 'em." Jenkins tries to lean back, patting one of the pigs to one side with a slight grin, "Stupid animals.." he chuckles, as a pig gives him the eye. "Delicious animals." Moultrie murmurs, though her nose wrinkles at their smell. She takes a slow breath and stifles a yawn, one arm rising to curl over the pig she leans against. Boudine looks at Moultrie. "El Tee, you might as well take a nap while we're here. Can't hurt." He does his best to hold on while staying watchful. He's especially interested in keeping his weapons clean. The general keeps an eye on the area around the Kilkinney Pike sign as it grows less and less visible, swallowed by the shadows and lost to the bloody red glow of the hovertruck's tail lights. He frowns, but doesn't say anything about Watts. Instead, he asks Moultrie, "It would've been nice to have real pork on the Versailles, yeah?" FT returns her attention to the windshield, watching for roadsigns. "I guess so..." She chews on her bottom lip, glancing back to the window occasionally, and answering any questions with short, polite answers, but mostly she's quiet, lost in her own thoughts, and absently keeping track of the road. "Dear god." Jenkins says, after a moment of silence, where his expression was carefully blank, "Did all of that really happen? I mean... look at us... what are we doing here?" "Oh yes, sir. The things I would have made if we'd had real pork." Moultrie says to the General with a small smile, "Would have been real good eatin', that's for sure." Her smile fades a bit as she looks to Jenkins, a small shake of her head following. She doesn't comment, and just lays her head down against her arm. It's not much longer before the hovertruck whirs over a bumpy hill to begin its descent toward the small farming town of Kilkinney Pike, whose single flashing red traffic signal swayed gently in the warm night breeze. "You just want me to drop you and your friends off at the Feathered Nickel?" the old man asks Futterman. "Is that a hotel? That would be fantastic," the woman replies. "Thank you again for being so nice to us." "Oh, we got no cause for somethin' so fancy as a hotel in *Kilkinney*, m'girl," the old man says with a toothy grin, turning the truck left at the signaled intersection. Soon enough on the right there's a ramshackle building with neon and holographic signs advertising the latest in cheap alcoholic beverages, croc wrestling, and Wet T-Shirt Wednesdays. "It's Thursday, though, and with a war on, likely to be a bit of a downer for the lads. Still, if it's help ya want, they're the ones to give it." He slows the hovertruck to a stop in front of the pub. Avocet stands as the hovertruck comes to a stop in front of the Feathered Nickel tavern. He looks toward Jenkins and says, "We're going to get back into the fight, quick as we can. That's what we're doing here. It's all we *can* do besides roll over, die, and call it a night for mankind." "Honestly, you have a way with words, sir." Jenkins manages, shaking his head and pushing himself to his feet, "This will be a good story, at least." he hops off the vehicle. Moultrie had taken what little rest she could get the remainder of the ride over to the Feathered Nickel, her eyes fluttering open slowly when the truck comes to a halt. She shakes herself a bit to regain awareness, then climbs up to stand. Boudine looks at the tavern for a moment, then rises. He scans the surrounding terrain before moving to help Moultrie up to her feet. "Wakey wakey, El Tee. Time to get moving." Avocet drops with a thump of boots on rough unpaved road behind the hovertruck, then steps to the curb to wait for the others. FT gives the bar a looooong look. "This is almost better," she says finally. She climbs out of the truck, dragging her gear with her and gives the driver another grin before slamming the door shut. She turns back to face the bar, leaning back to take in all the neon glory. "Apparently," she notes to the rest, "this is the only place with a bed for strange heads. Or something like that." "I hope everything works out just fine for you and your soldier friends," the old hovertruck driver says to Futterman and her companions through the open passenger-side window. "Whatever you plan to do, though, I'd say do it double-quick. I was listenin' to the radio before all the sats went down. The chief space monkey up there has hatched some crazy scheme to set our sun nova so our star system dies same as his. Eye for an eye, he said. Seems to like quotin' our historical figures a lot. " He shrugs. "Anyway, if you can't do anything about *that*, I recommend ya just get nice and comfy in Kilkinney Pike and enjoy the last days of Earth before it all goes to dust. That's just me, though, lass. That's just me." To Be Continued... Category:Logs